Dinner With An Outlaw
by London Sparrow
Summary: A silly, short story in which the main characters sit down and eat a meal together on the train ride to Promontory Summit. Hilarity ensues.


_-For my fellow author and good friend, IcyWaters, both for editing this and encouraging it.-_

There was still steam rising from the plate when Rebecca sat down onto the cushioned chair and watched as the butler lifted the silver cover from the plate of untouched food. She glanced at the glass of water, noticing that it had been refilled, and wiped clean of lipstick. Involuntarily, she brought a fingertip to her lips, looking at the pale magenta shade that decorated her skin. It had been years since she'd colored her lips - the last time she could remember wearing a slight bit of makeup had been her wedding day. The clink of silverware against china caught her attention, and she glanced up to see Latham smiling at each of them, albeit expectantly. Rebecca wiped her finger on the cloth napkin folded beside her plate and turned her attention to the man at the head of the table.

"Mrs. Reid," he addressed her, setting down the fork. "I don't believe you've been introduced to Captain Fuller."

The man in question offered her a gentleman's grin as he continued tucking his napkin into the starched collar of the uniform he wore. Even after the evening's events, he appeared freshly pressed, and Latham's crisp suit had not a cuff link out of place. Rebecca felt her face heat up when she thought of the torn hem of her dress. "How do you do, ma'am?"

Rebecca quirked her lips up in something she was sure resembled a grimace, at best. "Just fine, thank you."

A derisive snort came from her left. The easy smile left Fuller's face as he looked in that direction, and Latham's forehead creased slightly in a small frown as he too studied the man sitting at the place next to Rebecca. His head was tilted down, allowing the wide brim of the black hat to cast a shadow over his face, but the silver tooth in his mouth still caught the light from the candles when he grinned. "Oh, she's _fine_," Butch drawled, casting a long look over Rebecca's form, letting his gaze linger on her cleavage. "Just _fine_."

Glaring, Rebecca folded her hands in her lap and focused her attention on her son, who was staring at the outlaw across from him with an expression of curiosity on his face. She cleared her throat, trying to draw Danny's attention away from the man, but the ten-year-old would not be dissuaded from his thorough study of Butch Cavendish. He chewed, his brows lowered in thought, then once he swallowed, said, "Mr. Cavendish? Why do you have a silver tooth?"

Fuller choked on a piece of meat. Latham's fork paused en route to his mouth. Rebecca dropped her head into her palm, and after a tense moment lifted her fingers just enough to catch a glimpse of Butch looking at her son, not in anger, but with a blank stare. Danny was silent, evidently still waiting for an answer. The outlaw lifted a hand, briefly ran a finger over the cleft lip, and then reached for the glass of alcohol sitting beside his plate. Holding it in his hand, he flashed a small grin at Danny, and gave his response: "Because I wanted it." Then he lifted the glass to his mouth and drank deeply.

Rebecca let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, while around her, Latham and Fuller cautiously resumed eating. She dropped her chin and sent up a silent prayer of thanks for Butch's surprising level of civility, but when she lifted her gaze, she was horrified to see Danny with his mouth open, poking curiously at one of his teeth.

"Danny!" Rebecca said, her tone sharper than she intended it to be, but Danny seemed not to notice and merely dropped his hand, wiped his fingers on his napkin, and picked up his fork to resume eating. Latham's eyebrows still had not come down from their raised position as he studied Butch, who was poking at a piece of meat with his knife. After a moment, the outlaw dropped the utensil and picked up the drumstick with his fingers, lifted it to his mouth, and sank his teeth into it. Sauce was smeared around his lips when he dropped the food to his plate. Chewing noisily, he reached for his glass and drank from it, ignoring the smudges around the rim and surface. Rebecca caught a glimpse of Fuller's horrified expression and struggled to contain her amusement, trying in vain to set a good example for her son.

Butch set down the glass with a thud and let out a boisterous belch. At the head of the table, Latham sighed, rubbing his temples. "Please, Butch," he said tiredly. "We're in the presence of a lady."

The outlaw looked to the railroad tycoon, then to Fuller, who was nodding emphatically in agreement to Latham's statement. Butch grinned and nodded to the Cavalryman. "You're right," he said. "Sorry, ma'am."

Fuller sat back in his chair, eyes blazing. "Must I remind you, Sir, that I am an officer in the United States Army!"

"Really?" Butch's eyes widened as he shoveled potatoes into his mouth. "How long does it take you to comb that mustache?"

Latham placed a hand over his eyes and set down his fork. "I apologize for these two," he said quietly to Rebecca, while Butch and Fuller argued across the table. "They really are impossible."

She smiled and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Danny's voice cut in: "I wish I had my slingshot."

He was looking to his mother with an innocent expression. Fuller and Butch quieted, each going back to his own meal, shooting glares at one another over the plates. "Daddy told me to be bagging squirrels by the time he got back," Danny said, his tone hushed.

Butch looked up from licking his fingers clean. Across the table, Fuller gagged into his napkin. "You any good with that thing?" Butch inquired. Rebecca watched him warily, wondering where he was going with his questions.

"Yes, Sir." Danny lifted his chin proudly. "I can hit a bottle off the top of the well at home."

Fuller cleared his throat. "You should be focusing on firearms, young man," he said sternly. "A slingshot won't protect you from Indian savages or" - he paused and glared at Butch - "other things." He turned back to Danny. "If you'd like, I could show you a few things. I happen to be very experienced with all manner of firearms and swords."

"Swords?" Danny's eyes grew wide.

"I don't think -" Rebecca began, but Butch lifted a greasy finger.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Reid," he told her. "Captain Fancy over here means wooden swords, of course."

Despite her attempts at maintaining a mature countenance for Danny's sake, Rebecca couldn't prevent a smile from tugging at her lips, even while Fuller sputtered and choked on his drink. Latham dabbed his lips with his napkin and then let it fall to the plate, covering the uneaten portion. "Butch, if you're done eating, I'd like you to follow me. There is something I want to show you." He dipped his head to Rebecca. "Excuse us."

Butch swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, emitted another belch, and tossed down the bone of the drumstick he'd been absently gnawing on as he stood. "'Scuse me, Miss," he said, tapping a finger against the brim of his hat in a mock salute to Rebecca. Ignoring Fuller completely, he winked at Danny and sauntered after Latham, letting the door of the railcar fall shut behind him with a bang.

The railroad tycoon led the outlaw to an office car, where he produced a key from his pocket, opened the door, and allowed his brother to enter first. Butch swaggered into the railcar and immediately made a beeline for the desk and the cushioned chair behind it. With a groan, he sank into the patterned upholstery, stretching out his legs so that his feet fell onto the wooden surface of the desk with a thud. "Sure beats Skinny's beans and cornbread," he muttered, pushing up the brim of his hat as he eased his head back against the chair.

Latham made no reply to this as he uncorked a glass bottle of brandy and poured the alcohol into two goblets. He handed one to Butch and then gently touched his own to the other man's in a silent toast. Butch watched Latham sip the brandy, then sniffed at the liquor suspiciously. With a smirk, he set the goblet down on the desk and looked up at Latham, who was gazing at the outlaw with a raised brow. "Got any whiskey?" Butch inquired.

Sighing, Latham put down his brandy and moved to the liquor cabinet. After scanning the bottles for a moment, he reached in and removed an unlabeled bottle, which he handed to Butch without a word. The outlaw pulled out the cork with his teeth and let the whiskey flow onto his tongue and burn his throat on the way down.

While Butch drank, Latham opened a drawer of a nearby cabinet and reached in, pulling out several folded bundles. He eyed them for a moment then, satisfied, set them on the table and moved to a lower drawer. Butch's eyes widened when he watched the other man unfold the clothing to reveal a three-piece suit.

"These should fit."

Butch nearly choked on the alcohol. Coughing a bit, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and glared at the railroad tycoon. "I ain't wearin' that."

"We will be attending the celebration at Promontory Summit. I will not allow you to be out in public wearing" - Latham cast a disgusted glance over the rumpled, sweaty shirt Butch currently wore - "that."

"I look fine!"

"You look like you just came off the trail."

Butch lifted a finger. "Exactly."

There was an exasperated sigh before Latham spoke again. "By the time the shareholders realize what position I now hold, we will have enough silver to run our own country. In essence, Butch," he added, lifting the brandy to his mouth, "you're a free man. Is this really how you want to represent yourself?" He drank deeply, as though more answers could be found in the liquor than Butch's head.

The outlaw, meanwhile, had gone still. Freedom - there was a lot a man could do with that. He inhaled, blowing out his breath again as he considered Latham's words. Finally, he said, "Fine. I'll go to your little shindig."

"That's -"

"But I ain't wearin' no suit."

A pause. "Very well." Latham opened another drawer, and pulled out a different set of clothing. Butch eyed the shirt and trousers with suspicion, but, finding nothing unusual about them, nodded. "Good." Latham seemed pleased with himself as he added a hat to the pile and set it on the desk in front of Butch. "I'll leave you to get changed."

Tipping his head back, Butch drained the rest of the whiskey as he studied the bundle. Then he set aside the empty bottle and dragged his feet off the desk, sighing as he stood and stretched. There were still hours left to go before the train reached Promontory.

It promised to be a long ride.


End file.
